


Evolution Is No Fast Thing

by Purpleyin



Category: Fringe (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Banter, Bathroom Sex, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/M, Family Drama, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Linc avoids answering important questions, Oral Sex, Pining, Smut, Thanksgiving Dinner, Valentine's Day, drunk Linc, drunk Liv, leeham, not quite a date, past Liv/Frank, pining Linc, redverse, ridiculous cocktails, the drama llama rears its head in the form of Jocelyn the stepmom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: S4 set but AU from 4x09. Alt!Liv/Alt!Linc Valentines related angsty smut. A bit of what he wants should be better than none, but it really isn't and he wasn't prepared for that truth when it hits him.





	1. Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> S4 set but AU from 4x09 when Liv/Frank breakup, so 4x17 stuff didn't happen either, and it's also not dealing with cross-universe interactions in the scope of this fic. 
> 
> I was aiming for a short Valentines Day fic but it sprawled out of control and needed some considerable wrangling before posting and has sat on my harddrive for 5 years awaiting the push to finish it. Not written them for ages so not so confident about this anymore, especially because it has drunk!Liv, but I hope someone will enjoy. Also I'm not very good at judging the line between explicit and mature rating for smut, so I think this may be a bit tame for explicit but would rather put it rated higher than not rate it high enough.
> 
> Thanks to anyrei for some initial betareading of it. Revamped version unbetaed, apologies.

"I **hate** today," she says melodramatically, as she half throws her datapad on her desk.

The action catches his attention, "Hey, careful with that, they're durable, not indestructible."

He looks up at Liv, who is pouting, and grins. "And you," he points for emphasis as he gets up, "you do not hate today."

"You're right. Today day is a normal day," she agrees with a shrug he doesn't trust, "Just as fucked up as any other _except_ ," and that's where the head tilt comes in and he wonders where she's leading him conversationally, "there are no Fringe events so far. What I hate is the fact that this morning I had what should've been a leisurely walk four blocks into work from my favourite teashop but instead I endured an assault course of vendors trying to sell me cuddly heart cushions and bunches of already wilting flowers."

"It's always been over the top. Nothing's changed."

Except that you're not with Frank, he thinks and doesn't want to voice. It wasn't like Frank was always around on St. Val's Day, but she would've been able to call him, hear his voice, feel not alone. That luxury was one some people didn't have. The day really sucked if you had no one at all _and_ cared about that. Lincoln felt he'd been almost as lucky as her in previous years because even though him and Liv were just friends, he got to see her every work day, including St. Val's when it fell on one. Not the ideal situation in his mind, and he'd felt pretty low when it had fallen on a weekend day a few years ago with Liv and Frank going on a sickeningly sweet weekend away, but it was still all good as long as he focused on the person he loved being alive and well. If Liv was happy he could be too. It just happened to be easier to be happy for her when he could see her that way.

She purses her lips and scans over the reports in front of her.

"I know this single's awareness day crap isn't for you or me, like we care" he says with an exaggerated half shrug, throwing his hands out as he does as if to imply I-don't-even-know-what-the-fuss-is-about, "So why don't we find the dingiest bar in town and live it up a little somewhere away from cartoon caricatures of love."

She peers up at him, not moving her head from the position she holds, only her eyes moving up making her look predatory as her red hair falls down the sides of her face.

She clearly mulls it over before responding, "That could work."

 

* * *

 

 

Five hours later, post a mind numbingly boring day doing paperwork, Liv follows his lead for their newly scheduled unofficial R&R. They don't go to the dingiest place Lincoln knows in the end, settling for a spot that is low key, not too far away and a little rowdy to discourage any chance of coming across schmoopy dewey-eyed couples. When they get inside he can tell McCaffrey's Irish Cocktail bar is undoubtedly a unique location - a blend of dark, grubby old pub style furnishings that haven't been replaced since the 1960's and a special type of gaudy decoration that is at least green and clover shaped, not red and raw on her heart.

"What ye' getting?" asks the barmaid in an accent he can't tell if it's faked or stereotypically authentic.

"One malt Whiskey on the rocks and -" he turns to Liv, who's still settling in on her stool, taking a good look around at their surroundings, surveying exits a habit she can't shake when off-duty, "Do you know what you want? And please don't just say a club soda. Today is not that kind of day."

"Uh, give me a minute," she waves the barmaid off. Readdressing him she asks, "I thought we were going for today isn't any different than any other day?"

"If that were true I would not be here with the desire to drink it into oblivion."

She bites her lip and looks pensive as she reads the cocktail menu. He doesn't expect what comes next.

"How come you've never had a date for St. Val's day since I've known you?"

"Huh. Oh, well...Timing. Seems kind of tacky to go out and get date just for St. Val's. If it wasn't happening with the lurve before then then no way I'd go chatting someone up just so I'm not alone. Would feel so false."

But Liv clearly isn't finished on that chain of questioning, randomly as it appeared to come up.

"For that matter, how come you don't mention going on dates much anymore?"

Right then he's so glad his drink arrives and Liv gets distracted ordering hers. It gives him a minute to pause as he takes a sip. The burn down the back of his throat feels the right kind of pain to remind him how some things you enjoy aren't all sunshine and smiles.

"Who could put up with me?" he aims for a joke once the barmaid leaves them be, but it's only half that and Liv's small smile at it seems to convey she can see through it.

"Seriously though, what we do, it's dangerous and unpredictable. I never know when I'll be around, if I'll have to cancel on a date. I stopped trying after a while. Too much hassle. I'm amazed you and Frank did so well. And Charlie, at least he had the sense to transfer. He's already nearly died like twice, no point testing his luck more."

"I seem to recall you've almost died _at least_ twice too."

He isn't sure if that line is spoken more softly than the rest of their exchange or if it's his imagination and the bar's simply louder as she says it. It shouldn't matter which. The reply that leaves his lips betrays him a little despite that, a baited expression he blusters out – foolishly fishing for meaning - and tries to cover at the last minute.

"But the difference is, there's no one around here who'd miss me, except all you poor bods who'll be left without me at work. You'd be a shoe in for a promotion without me though," he says boldly, stealing a swig from Liv's boring ass beer.

"Hey, get your own."

She leans over to snag the bottle back, swatting his hand away even as he's returning it anyway.

"Ugh, I'll have to. I don't know how you can drink that non-alcoholic crap, tastes like gone off mushrooms to me."

Liv rolls her eyes and the conversation they'd been having falls away, the distraction and deflection working better than he thought it would. Which surely meant she didn't really care because Liv was like a dog with a bone about anything she wanted to figure out. Just as well, he thinks, as he washes the awful taste out his mouth with a swish of whiskey. He feels a little thrill at sharing her drink like that though, lips upon lips by proxy, which was definitely pathetic and he blames the drink sitting heavy on his empty stomach for that.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end Liv gives in on ordering a cocktail, as long as he will too.

"Oh, can't get me there. Unlike some lesser men I am supremely confident in my masculinity. Bring on the cocktails. Blue, pink, rainbow colored - whatever they got."

"You realize you're paying for these, if you want a drinking buddy for that oblivion of yours. I'm not paying a dime to get drunk with you."

"Sounds fair to me."

A pact to get drunk suits him fine. It being an all expenses paid alcoholic experience for Liv was perfectly good by him too because there wasn't an awful lot he spent his wage on apart from rent, books, comics and the occasional streamed entertainment when he was home.

Besides, Liv needed to loosen up a bit. She'd been noticeably tenser following her and Frank's break up, and talking only did so much. He still felt like there were aspects of that she wouldn't utter even to him, which hurt a little. A looser tongue on her could help that out, selfish as it was to wish, but he hoped it'd help her too in the long run.

"So what do you think a Lucky Leprechaun tastes like? I don't remember any of the ingredients the bartender rallied off.

"I dunno," he replies, rubbing his stubble in mock thought and aiming for a whimsical quip to lighten the mood, "Velvety like his coat?"

"As grassy as he is green?"

"Prone to causing a twinkle in your eye?" he retorts smartly, catching her eyes as he says it, cultivating the aforementioned look in his own. Hanging out with her had that sort of effect on him and he wanted her to see it sometime, recognize her effect on him.

They broke out in honest to God giggles at the ridiculousness of the topic. Trying to keep her face straight Liv carried the theme, matching his stare, not allowing herself to be outdone. She had to have the last word.

"Rich like a pot of gold?"

"Ending in a rainbow?"

At that she turned away briefly. He'd managed to unintentionally hit on one of the things of how life used to be that she was nostalgic for, that left her melancholic most of the time. Lincoln went back to nursing the remains of his whiskey.

A couple of minutes later ended their speculation and the uncomfortable silence. A Lucky Leprechaun came in a martini glass apparently, brilliant vibrant emerald green made by some unknown blend of spirits.

"Is that edible?" he asks as the pair of drinks are set down, indicating to the sparkly sugar encrusted rim, "Those bits, I mean they're practically holographic. That's not right."

"Sure. Is not a problem, as long as you don't mind seeing it on the way out of ye too," says the barmaid with a sly smirk before moving on to tend to other customers.

He does a double-take and raises his eyebrows as he inspects the cocktail with more trepidation than he'd ever have expected one to cause, "Was she saying what I thought she was saying?"

"Yup, Lincoln, get ready for glittery poop tomorrow," she says with a smile as she tackles her glass with gusto, proving she didn't really know how to take her liquor any better than she could back down from a challenge.

"Do you have to be so crass Liv? I was gonna leave it unsaid you know. Much classier."

"Have you ever mistaken me for classy Linc? I'm a practical gal."

"Yeah, don't I know it. I'm never forgetting when you stole my spare uniform after you got covered in goo from that, I don't know what it was, what did we call it?"

"Hell knows, looked practically prehistoric. And don't pretend you didn't like it. I saw you blush when you realized it was your pants I was wearing."

"Oh _sure_ , boy was I happy to see you in my only spare uniform when I was **also** covered in goo," he deadpanned, turning his head and fixing her with an accusatory stare.

"Mine was in the wash," she says laughing full heartedly and nudging his shoulder with hers as she continued her recollections, "And the look on Charlie's face when he realised you were in _his_ spare set."

"Heh, at least he had more than one spare."

"His fit you so bad though, you looked like a scrawny nerd."

"Like mine fit you any better, Ms. I've-barely-got-enough-belt-holes-to-hold-my-pants-up," he chimes back at her with a matching sideways nudge against her shoulder, "And excuse me for not being so buff as I am now, this takes work. Years of work." he says touching his pec to punctuate it, and surprisingly enough she does the same, as if testing his bluff.

"I suppose you do fill out a little better these days," she replies, with what he'd like to think is consideration.

"Another drink?"

"Put the money down and we'll see, shan't we."

He opens his wallet and rifles through the notes, shoving another $20 Liv's way before he shakes his head at the cost but smiles and makes his way to the men's room.

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn't know quite what she's doing here, in a joint like this, with Lincoln to boot; drinking, buying another round. The bartender saunters back at her leisure, cleaning a glass and nods confirmation of her order, settling the glass down and picking up two others, long and tall.

"Are you coughing up this time or did you want to wait for your date to come back to pick up the bill?" she asks as she measures shots out of the optics on the bar wall opposite Liv.

"No, no, he's not my date," Liv answers with an emphatic shake of the head and a smirk, pushing the bill forward on the counter. Tonight would be the night people presume that she guesses, of all nights. Usually she went out with Charlie and Lincoln, which wasn't a problem there, just buddies, but there was no cover of Charlie to prevent those sorts of questions now.

The barmaid peers over her shoulder, shaking the cocktail mixer vigorously as she does, "Are you sure he knows that?'

"He really isn't. We're just friends, only friends, always friends," she pronounces with a lift of her glass merrily.

"Your loss then," the woman says dryly, pouring yet another green concoction out in front of her before returning to cleaning the glasses on the side.

Flicking her gaze away from her own personal enquirer – nosy bartenders were one reason she wasn't overly fond of going out drinking, apart from the booze - Liv downs half her drink there and then. Too soon, she thinks, definitely too soon since Frank to be doing this. Not that she can figure out what this evening is overall, except what she wants it to be.

 

* * *

 

 

A half of Black Velvet, one Delaney's Donkey and an Irish Buck later and he's feeling more than a little tipsy. Liv had insisted they try each specialty after he'd made the mistake of asking if she was trying to drink through the whole list.

"Look at the time, wow. I think we better call it a night," he stretches his arms out and checks his watch theatrically.

"What's this 'we', I'm not done. There's still the Hot Spot to go."

"You're taking what I said as a dare, aren't you?"

"No reason not to. I'm havin' fun. No work tomorrow. Now pony up for my drink."

A thought loops round in his mind, as he fathoms her drunken change of heart on their bonding boozing, that what she said points to the promise of next year St. Val's being on a Saturday. Meaning he probably won't see her then. It makes his decision to stay suddenly a lot clearer.

"Fine. We're sharing it. I don't need you getting annihilated on me," but he reckons it is too late for that, Liv's a light weight in comparison to most people he knows. Mind you, he isn't sure he's doing much better on this occasion, given the finely fucked up blend of whiskey and who knows what else trawling his system. Like every other time when he should say no, he just goes with it What's half a cocktail more to him?

 

* * *

 

 

Stumbling from the cab he feels more drunk than he'd like, as he helps support Liv who is infinitely wobblier. They seesaw back and forth across the steps to her apartment with his arm around her waist holding her up, thankfully making it across her lobby to the elevator much quicker as she perks up at the entranceway, hefting her shoes off crazily fast and elects to skid across it in her socks.

He takes her hand to pull her inside the elevator and Liv swings through light and unbalanced, as if he's her dance partner and not her support. Lincoln rolls his eyes as he presses the button for her floor, refraining from commenting on how nice it is to see her so carefree. She's steadying herself on the mirrored wall as she mentions wondrously how the female bartender thought she was his date.

There is a ding as they reach their destination and he lifts her arm over his shoulder, "If anything I was your anti-date."

She laughs loudly as they zigzag towards her door, "Anti-date, that's not a real word Linc. Sounds like antidote, like you're my antidote to a miserable day, plying me with drinks and making me smile."

"You know me. Glad to be of service."

They stand outside her door, waiting. Maybe she's forgotten she needs to unlock it? She moves and he thinks it must be for her keys, but then Liv's put her arms around his neck, is smiling up at him and he thinks he's a selfish dick having got her drunk but he likes how happy she looks again, and how it's all while looking up at him.

The moment is interrupted by a sliding sound, click, and creak of the door opposite hers.

"Hey! Keep it down!" comes the complaint from one of her neighbours through the crack opened, quiet but unmistakable in their harsh tone, "Some of us have kids asleep and work tomorrow."

The cranky sleep-deprived person disappears quick enough there's no time for either of them to reply with anything. Leaving them entwined in the hall a little awkwardly. Liv breaks out in barely contained giggles and tsks tsks at herself in a hushed kidlike manner before she extracts herself from his embrace and her keys from her jacket.

She tiptoes into her apartment and he follows, moving to make tea, to sober her up. Shuffling through her cupboard he finds an unopened pack of lemon chai, which should be the right kind of refreshing and he's more than half way through making it, the first cup straining before he then thinks to get some for himself.

"I wondered where that came from."

He looks up from his efforts to find her leaning against the counter sideways a little way from him.

"Got it for your birthday. You gave me a funny look when you opened it, like buying you tea was odd," and he adds with regret, "but then that wasn't you, Should've known."

"Don't beat yourself up Linc, her and I we're not that dissimilar after all, not if you're only looking at the outside. Same astonishing good looks, though she doesn't have the same taste in hair colour."

He thinks it's just like her to diffuse the seriousness with humor and an illusion to vanity. Like she doesn't want to address how they really are similar and not only on the outside. Not only because of the memories they tried to implant into the other Olivia Dunham.

"I'd have missed you, if I'd known."

"I know," she accepts it like a truth he can't refute, a constant she'd expect, "I'd have missed you too, if I'd had a breath to be myself."

His brain hurts a bit trying to get around what that must've been like, to pretend every minute of the day anyone was there to be someone else – to replace your sense of self with another person, even temporarily, to act like them and cultivate the belief you are them. He's never done undercover, everyone tells him he'd be rubbish at it – can't keep a secret to save his life. Yet Liv has never shown any sign she suspects his big one, not really. He realizes the mind boggling scenario isn't the only thing making his head hurt and is very glad the tea's done, or overdone in his case.

Giving it one last stir, he dumps the dregs of the leaves into a bowl along with the strainers, and hands Liv her mug. "Here, you should drink it. Rehydrate."

They drink in silence, eyeing each other, without the customary banter, for a few minutes as their mouths are otherwise occupied. Liv finishes her drink first and steps closer, "Look at you, looking after me."

She smiles widely, ignoring the tea in his hands, comes closer still. She kisses him and for a second he worries his grip is too slack on the mug as she catches him by surprise, but he doesn't spill a drop, fumbling to put it down on the surface besides him and leaving the moment uninterrupted. He isn't sure why now, if she's horny or lonely, if it's because he's the person in front of her or someone she trusts. He responds because he doesn't so much care if he's the rebound guy, if it was gonna be anyone he prefers it to be him. If she needs him to forget this in the morning the drink is a perfect excuse. He'll let her. Their friendship is what matters, but there's no chance in hell he'd turn down a long overdue kiss.

It's not at all like their first. He found it curious when he'd examined the encounter he remembered that she'd not stopped that first kiss, only informed him she was taken afterwards. A short kiss in the grandscheme of things, a brief stolen press of his lips to hers. He doesn't stop this now and it is completely different, long teasing twists of her mouth capturing his lips that leave him out of breath. Liv is seducing him, she's drunk and he's drunk and it's naturally going to be a monumentally bad idea, but he won't stop it if she doesn't, like they're taking the bad idea too far to see who's chicken. And Liv isn't chicken, she manhandles him, pushing him around and back, his ass hits the kitchen unit, her body pressing into his. There's no way she'd miss the effect it's having on him now and it definitely isn't missed judging how she grinds into him, eliciting a moan from him in amongst the high school-esque make out session it's morphed into.

She reaches down between their bodies and makes quick work of his belt buckle, of his fatigues and then her own, leaving them both in standard issue black thermal underwear. There are now only two layers of thin smooth fabric between them, creating a false sensation not unlike skin upon skin upon skin – sensations amplified and distanced at the same time.

Liv breaks contact for a moment, sliding her underwear off and moving behind him, to push herself up by her arms onto the counter. Waiting for him, with her legs spread open she pulls him to face her and touches her thumbs to his hips, marginally below the line of his underwear. He takes the hint and slides it down himself wordlessly, watching her face as he does – the bite of her lip and the following satisfied grin appearing at this development - and settles inline to her as close as he can get. It's still Liv who makes the final move though, manhandling him and aligning them with one hand, with the other pulling his ass closer, demanding him to cross her threshold now. Lincoln knows this is crossing a dozen lines as he succumbs to his desires this night; what he doesn't know is if it will be a good choice to or what territory they are crossing the line into.

 

* * *

 

 

They don't talk about it. Not during. Not after. Not the next day. Everything is normal (except for the strong wish to kiss her every time he sees her). Nothing changes (except that she doesn't flirt with him, he thinks she doesn't want to encourage him anymore). Then two weeks later she invites him over for a movie, like they used to do sometimes, before life got so hectic.

They sit down with popcorn and sodas, ready for an evening of blockbuster explosions. He's grateful for that because he can't deal with the thinkiness of melodrama's or romcom's anytime soon. Of course he doesn't bank on a romance plot cropping up in an action film. A romance plot with a hot and heavy sex scene, as he sits next to Liv, glad the lights are out and wishing he'd sat a bit further away from her.

A sex scene that moves of all places to a kitchen. With the female lead on a kitchen counter, noises implying she's being enthusiastically pumped into and out of on a kitchen counter by her lover. That's his imagination filling in the blanks, all there is is soft lit obscured camera angles and noises, but he has so much experience with this little scenario to draw from and he feels flushed and stupidly turned on. Liv's hand is an unexpected addition to his thigh at this point, drawing rapidly higher and higher until she brushes the edge of his erection through his combats and he makes an unintentional sound that mimic's a little too closely what's going on onscreen.

That's when she decisively commands the movie paused and he finds himself straddled by her.

"What's happening here?" he asks in a strangled voice, not as confidently as it should have come across.

He strongly suspects the choice of film was no accident, but he needs to hear what she has to say about all this.

"What happened before..." she starts off huskily, dipping to press a kiss below his ear where she must know it gets to him, "...it was fun. I think we could both use more of that in our lives."

"What are you saying Liv?"

"If you're game, I am."

"So, what? Am I right in saying you're suggesting us be fuck-buddies?"

"If you want to call it that."

"Are you sure?"

She tilts her head, looking at him like he's grown a new one. "You really gonna pass on this? Next thing I know you'll be proclaiming to be a nice guy in disguise."

His response is predictable, "Ha. 'course not. Whatever you want."

He lets Liv ride him hard on her very own sofa, like it's an intermission to the movie; a romp in the hay, her hair ruffled and back to business once it's done. Sleepy and spent he falls asleep on her shoulder and has no clue how the story ends. In the morning she hands him a cup of tea, lemon chai, his, and goes about her daily business like he's perfectly fine lying on her sofa with his pants around his ankles underneath the blanket and vivid memories of what they did last night that was the very most friendly they've ever been. He blinks the feeling away, drinks the too hot tea rapidly in his rush to go home and take an excessively long shower.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks is again the time it takes for things to get back to semi-normal, for him at least. He doesn't get any usual invitations out or to her's during that time. He does wonder if that's her version of avoiding him, since she can't at work. She acts relatively normal around him though, more at ease than he reckons he's being. He sees her looking at him from time to time like she thinks he's acting strange perhaps and he resolves to grow up and get over this weirdness, because it's nothing really, nothing he can't handle as long as they're still friends.

If Charlie were here and not training newbies at the academy he'd know something was up in an instant. Charlie'd weasel it out of him within days, probably by lack of admission more than any thing else. Charlie was good with figuring out the things he couldn't say. Lincoln had always thought Liv was too in truth, but she didn't tend to choose to do anything with what she knew more than half time, she let him stew instead of coaxing it out. This time she should've known all too well what was wrong, except maybe she didn't. Impossible to tell. Drop it, he decides, the doubt is a load he doesn't need to carry. Life can be hard enough as it is without the nagging questions in the back of his mind that ask, _why_ and _how_ and _will it last_.

 


	2. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He waited for years for his chance and now it's the in-between that's killing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on a new chapter. Looks like this will be in three parts after all.

 

When she invites him to her apartment at 11.45pm one night weeks later, there's no mistaking it's a bootie call. She doesn't say as much, they have no code, but she doesn't say what it's for either and when he turns up on her doorstep, he hopes.

He keeps on hoping too. That this isn't the last time. That he can make it worth it despite the clench in his chest at the thought it could be.

He used to touch her all the time but they don't do that anymore, the only touches lately are the illicit ones, like all the love he had for her is transmuted into something secret, hot and twisted in his gut. He misses what they used to have, somehow it doesn't seem like they can have both at once and he's not sure if it was a fair trade to have a dream half come true at the sacrifice of one of the things he cherished about their relationship. He waited for years for his chance and now it's the in-between that's killing him.

Lincoln copes by focusing all his attention on her and she lets him. He drags it out this time not letting her strip them within minutes like the last two encounters they had. Taking his time, he lightly strokes as much of her flesh as she will let him, cataloguing every detail of his touch against her warm body and every sound that escapes her throat. He pours out his passion in tortuously hot kisses wanting to show how good it could be if she let this thing between them develop, and slides down her body with a trail of teasing licks until he works out a damn good reason between his tongue and her clit why she should keep this going, keep his talents around.

He could lay in the afterglow of doing that for a lifetime but he forces himself up, dressing promptly and intending to get out of dodge. A tactical retreat before he is tempted to get under the covers and make himself too at home here.

Lying there panting, Liv doesn't hesitate calling him out on the perceived unfairness of their transaction, "When I summoned you I was thinking of something that'd be fun for both us."

"Summoned me? Right. Lucky for you I _deigned_ to grace you with my magnificent presence."

"That's it? From your 'magnificent' presence? Where you going in a hurry?" she asks with a crooked easy going smile he sees when he glances back once his shirt is pulled on – she looks blissful yet intrigued still by this edge of mystery injected into the night. Finally, he puts on his best matching grin to the one he saw on her face, strides to the doorway and leaning on it, facing her, winks as he responds nonchalantly.

"Stuff to do and don't sweat it, it was. Fun for me, that is."

She peers at him from her splayed out position across the wide cushions of the couch, an incredulous look at his choice of disappearing act. He's not sure why when she got what she wanted surely.

"If you're really worried you can owe me a favor."

 

* * *

 

 

"Follow me," she whispers conspiratorially to him almost a month later. He doesn't get the secrecy but obeys the instruction anyhow, getting up from his desk and gladly leaving behind the figurative mountain of paperwork contained on his pad.

Once they're out of earshot of the bullpen, he decides he'd actually like to know what this little detour is about.

"Are you _going_ to tell me where we're going..or, why I'm bothering wasting my energy playing walkabouts on a day like this?"

"Trust me," is all she says, like it's that simple. Of course he doesn't throw up a fuss at the lack of explanation, because he could do with a distraction from bureaucracy about now.

She rounds the corner and stops him dead, scanning up and down the corridor apparently ensuring it is devoid of others, and then heads for the door marked unisex toilets.

"Liv, what's going on?"

"Ssh," she says finger to her lips as she heads in.

He doesn't know what he's doing, so he does the most natural thing and follows her in, heads for a stall, picking one at the far end so he can watch her move to the mirror pane in front of the sinks, making as if to check her eye for grit or something. He locks himself in the stall and hears the other occupied stall unlock, the whoosh of the drier, followed by footsteps and the swing of the door indicating they are alone. A few seconds later, there's a knock on his door and he opens to be greeted by Liv pressing into the tiny space. She locks it after herself.

"Care to explain?" he demands, standing tall over her.

"You seem tense today," she pushes him with little resistance back onto the seat, "Hell, this whole week you've been a grouch. Time to return a favor."

Which is how he finds himself stifling suggestive groans as Liv goes down on him at work, scared someone will hear and at the same time intensely aroused by the possibility. The whole thing ensures he'll never be able to use this bathroom again without thinking of this fantasy made real.

 

* * *

 

 

Their rendezvous happen with more frequency over time, and with more variety, something developing beyond the garden variety hookups – like she's searching for a spice to it more often than not, upping the stakes when she can. Every few weeks turns into at least once a week, if not a few times more every now and then. This time is something familiar yet new, they're in the bar and Liv had suggested provocatively for his ears only that she could join him in women's toilets a few minutes later.

He honestly hadn't been able to excuse himself fast enough, and Liv is no better, barely leaving a minute til she's left the bar too. She knows she's got him pegged good with this kink for doing it in public, he can't resist and it isn't long before they're going at it recklessly in a stall, him losing himself in it so hard he doesn't know if anyone walked into the bathroom during, doesn't care if anyone could tell it was him.

Olivia primps herself easily after, minimal cleanup and straightening out of herself required but he stays collapsed in the stall there for another five minutes to recover and leave time between their return. However he tries he can't make his hair look the same and he has to give up when a woman walks in and gives him a disgusted look like she knows what he's doing in there.

When he ends up back at the bar Charlie rolls his eyes at him and offers another beer.

"I almost drank it myself, you took that long. Man, are you vain."

"What you talking about?"

"Come on, the hair. You just spent 20 minutes in the john, I can see you've been primping. Hoping to get laid I bet. Like the hair makes a difference. "

Lincoln smiles to himself, and swallows a swig, there's no hoping about it but he can't reveal that to Charlie.

"Glad to have you back Scarlie. What did I do without you keeping my ego in check?" he asks rhetorically, knowing Charlie will undignify it with an answer.

Charlie gives him a considered look and for a moment Lincoln is worried what his friend might say, what he might be able to see going on, but fortunately he's not forthcoming with anything specific.

"Got into trouble. I know you did,” he says pointedly, swilling his beer around in the bottle as he does, ”I just don't know what kind yet."

"You know me well."

And they're lucky that though he knows Liv equally well, Charlie is distracted enough to not notice things he ought to. Lincoln kind of wishes he would notice, it'd be nice to have someone know and have it feel real. But it isn't, he reminds himself. He can take the secrecy anyway, painful as it sometimes is, because it means this is still happening to him and not purely a fling ready to be long forgotten. The longer this goes on the more hope he has. It could be disastrous to hold onto thoughts like that, but he can't let go of the idea. He never has been able to. He's always been patient, willing to wait it out. As long as Liv is happy.

 

* * *

 

 

This one time Liv doesn't call him. He messages her and like a coward shows up at her door before he has a response and he can only justify it with this.

"I really need someone right now."

She doesn't baulk, doesn't turn away and slam the door in his face, just because it is not on her terms for once. He kisses her as soon as the door is shut, his hands either side of her face, a kiss that works from desperate to tender as he relaxes into her returned embrace.

She leads him to the couch, stroking his arm as she guides him to sit but gets up herself instantly indicating to the kitchen with a hand gesture and his nod accepting wordlessly the unspoken offer of tea. As she moves to the kitchen, the kitchen where they'd fucked senselessly and started this whole affair, she asks "What's wrong Linc? What happened?"

"It's...it's nothing really. I just," he takes a deep breath wishing he had a joke to smooth this admission out with, "I didn't want to be alone tonight."

"You're never alone," she chides with a laugh, but it's not at him, simply surprise at his words, dismay as she stirs the teabag, inflaming the brewing process, speeding it up.

"There was a conversation I had with Jocelyn, stressed me out."

"Your stepmother?" she asks as picks up his cup of tea, looking perhaps a little concerned."What was it about?"

"Thanksgiving. Yeah, I know, hardly the end of the world material. Call me a pussy if you want," he says as she walks into the living room, pre-empting her amusement at what has him worked up. He slouches into his place on her couch, grateful for the familiar spot even if he has to stifle the images of the action it'd seen each time he returns to it.

Liv hands him his tea and sits down next to him, curling her legs up and merely waits for him to spill details which feels most unlike her to have no prods and jibes ready.

"She wanted to know who I was bringing. Cue the why haven't you found yourself a decent young woman like your brother conversation. Or your step-sister. It makes me feel so.... I mean, I'm successful, I'm one of the good guys. I do a helluva job, all but a national hero, top of my game and there she is making me feel like a disappointment for not bringing some random home once a year. Naturally she did say you were welcome by the way, as always, but I know she despairs of me with my _friends_ like it's a bad thing to have them, just because none of you are digging me _like that_."

The first thing she says in response is quite obviously teasing, not that he ever expected a serious answer to this dumb overreaction.

"Would it help if we told her about our little deal?"

"Friends with benefits? She'd love that. She'd think we were...” he's not even sure he can voice the rest of that thought so settles for not bothering, hoping he can gloss it over, “She'd completely miss the point."

"What _is_ the point Lincoln?" Liv asks directly, gaze pinpointed on him, "What's bothering you so much about this? Never seen you so concerned what she thinks. Take someone, don't take someone. It's a meal, you eat, you leave."

"I don't know. It's late, maybe there is no point. I don't want to think. I want to feel."

"Which is where I come in, correct?"

The implication makes him squirm, like he's using her, dropping by like this for casual sex. It doesn't help knowing it's not so casual on his side. If she's willing he wants to, but he intends to do it differently. He knows it wasn't her call, that she might not be quite so in the mood, and he isn't honestly here for a quickie either. This time he wants to take it slowly, he wants to obliterate all sense and forget what is was that drove him to her in the first place.

He doesn't bother finishing his tea, forgotten on the table in front of them. He presses himself forward to reach her lips, sharing the taste with her, and Liv responds by pulling him on-top of her and wrapping her arms around his torso, sliding underneath his tshirt. They end up making out there for longer than he'd have expected, Liv letting him set the pace and him getting lost in the sensation of her lips on his and her hands roaming across his back, scraping lightly with her nails somehow working to sensitising every part of him. Finally he strips off his tshirt, earning him a smirk and an “About time” from her, before he works on freeing her of her own, eager to pay more attention to Liv than he has been.

He kisses lazily at her neck, slowly working his way down until he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, teasing her with alternating sucking and gentle biting. He feels her buck up under him, impatiently pushing for more contact with the rest of him. That's when he switches his attention to the other breast he's been simply tracing with his free hand and she whines a little, shifting her hips and reaching for his zipper. Patience it turns out will be required when neither of them can succeed in undressing much more from their positions on the couch. He gets up, ready to shuck off his pants, when Liv stands up too, speedily undressing the rest of herself but surprisingly not moving closer, instead to her bedroom.

He stands there a little dazed before he follows her, taken aback that they are making it to the bedroom for once, a place he's not usually allowed, if allowed is the word; he's just not been in there before. It seems meaningful, though he shakes off the thought. They're completely naked for once and she pulls him ontop of her with a devious look on her face - he's stripped down, not to mention tired from work, from over-thinking everything, but most definitely still turned on as she can tell. The way they move together ends up slow and deep this time, a controlled rhythm held to for big pay off. In the moment of bliss after he's come he wants to confess his love, might get away with it she's so tired too, half asleep as they hit the pillows and something he could wave away as foolishness. But it _is_ foolish so he says nothing, same as usual, same story playing in his head about how it would go if he tried.

They fall asleep sweaty on top of the sheets and he wakes up next to Liv, in the sunlight streaming in through her window, making him thankful for nano-screens where they can see out and no one can see in. She yawns and wakes up and he looks at her feeling so utterly content to be in her bed, for reasons far from just awesome sex. He's scared she'll be able to tell how much love he has for her from the look he gives, he worries it exudes from him, he's so happy. He doesn't know if she knows but Liv looks happy too.

"Hey, Red. Come with me to Thanksgiving?"

"Sure, why not. I don't like to turn down a free meal, but you'll owe me. Big time."

"You mean big time, like last night?' he prompts, glancing at her with the formation of a cheeky grin teasing, "You name the favors. It's hardly a hardship when they're for you _and_ with you."

She eyes him thoughtfully but doesn't say anything else about it, simply getting out of bed and going about fetching her own breakfast. He's more than a little surprised she doesn't kick him out, accepting him there. They eat breakfast in peace before he takes his leave casually. It is both comfortable and surreal to him.

 

 


	3. Declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head at Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who has been patiently waiting for this final part. I'd been struggling with a few scenes in this and also caught a cold the weekend before last which delayed my writing efforts considerably. I hope it lives up to what people were expecting, though fair warning it's lighter on the smut and heavier on the drama/angst but there is a happy ending.

 

The drive to his parents for Thanksgiving is uneventful. Him and Liv share a ride amiably chatting, more relaxed in each other's company than he can remember being for a while. The door is already unlocked when they arrive at the rather expansive house his family call home, so they slip into the hallway initially unnoticed.

He goes to stand behind Liv, silently offering to take her jacket from her, the kind of polite action his parents would expect of him here. She glances back at him, hesitating to shrug the item of clothing off as she'd been about to, and just gives him a look over her shoulder as if to say 'Really, Linc?'. He shrugs in return, a little reticent but he figures she must know he only means to be nice, it's not like he thinks she expects or requires it. The difference is, he wants to.

Whatever thoughts go through her head at this wordless exchange, she seems to accept it in the end and that is when his stepmom announces her presence by clearing her throat from the doorway like she thinks she is interrupting something. That's the moment that he realises this evening is going to be a lot harder than he'd expected. Will he end up overthinking every word, every look shared between them, wondering what it actually says to the people observing them? In theory all he has to do is act naturally but that's no longer an option when what he naturally wants to do, is used to, isn't the same as the reality they need to present to the world.

The greetings he watches occur between his stepmom and Liv are warm and friendly like he expects, hugs and smiles, because Liv is after all an old friend, well known and liked by everyone in the house. However, Jocelyn catches his arm to hold him back as Liv heads on through to the kitchen to help out.

“I'm so happy you brought Liv,“ she says in a tone he isn't familiar with being directed at him. He suspects there is an connotation hidden in there, because while she's never been disappointed to see Liv before, she's also never been quite this enthused either. He falters in correcting her, somehow managing to get out a short “It isn't like that,“ but she simply pats him on the shoulder in return before she exits the hall too.

She leaves him with his stunned silence and he hopes he is mistaken about her words or that she will come to the conclusion that she is instead. He can only really hope to prove it nothing by the act he intends to put on. The problem is he's never been good at keeping secrets.

 

* * *

 

 

What Lincoln doesn't expect is for Liv to be the one making it so difficult to be around her. As far as he is aware nothing she does is remarkable compared to how they have been in the past. A touch of the shoulder to steady herself as she brushes past behind him, other hand occupied with a glass of something sparkling but non-alcoholic. Her poking him in the ribs at the direction of his stepsister for some wisecrack he makes. Her ruffling his hair, affectionately messing it up, as both the women tease him back. It's little things he should be able to take but he finds those things are setting him on edge.

He doesn't think Liv has noticed until he feels her grope his ass once they are alone in the kitchen suddenly - her hand sliding into one of his back pockets to feel him up from where she stands by his side as he mashes vegetables with more verve than required. Then he knows none of it has been accidental but he doesn't know exactly why she is choosing to wind him up in this setting, risking questions being asked. He's also really grateful the kitchen island he's standing behind is high enough to hide his erection but any minute now someone _will_ come back in for more dishes to take through to the dining room and he isn't going to be able to act cool like he needs to. He pointedly removes her hand from his backside and storms off to the downstairs restroom.

No sooner has he closed the door, reaching for the lock, than Liv is pushing inside the room too and locking them in together. The look in her eyes is predatory and he is briefly annoyed at her behavior if she would put her needs above his own comfort. The feeling doesn't last long as he cottons on to her plan, her unzipping his flies and pushing him back to perch against the sink cabinet.

“You look a little tense, Linc. Think I can help with that,“ she says with a cocked eyebrow as she kneels in front of him.

He ought to question this; whether it is a good idea to do here, whether he should really let her get away with testing and breaking his boundaries like she has, whether anyone will notice them gone. The answer is probably no to all of those things but he doesn't protest as she pulls his briefs down and takes him in hand. He stifles a whimper as she licks slowly around the head of his cock over and over. He's desperate to keep his volume to a minimum and hyper aware of the background noises, straining to hear for any early warning they will be found out. His focus wanes as she pumps at his hard-on that's plenty lubricated by a combination of precum and saliva, with her sucking teasingly on the tip with every downward motion of her hand to encompass his base.

When she starts to take him subtly deeper with each stroke he has to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning out loud and his hands grip the cabinet tighter to steady himself, resisting bucking forward like he wants to. He lets her tease his climax out of him, not giving away more than he has to, making her work for it since she was the one so keen to orchestrate this ill-advised scenario. When she finally pushes him over the edge it is both a relief and a defeat of sorts, but he can admit as the flush of hormones comes over him in the aftermath he _does_ feel a lot less nervous now.

Liv washes her mouth out and grins at him in her victory before departing without another word, leaving him more than a little limbless where he rests, his arms still propping him up against the side. Never the less he hurries up getting back to normality too, because she couldn't lock the door on her way out and he definitely does not want to get caught with his pants around his ankles by any of his family.

 

* * *

 

 

The meal is delicious. Everyone is smiley and happy, including him in his post orgasmic bliss. He listens contentedly to the small talk made across the table - his family knowing to avoid asking him or Liv about their work - and stuffs himself with all the dishes he has been craving since last year's meal, things he would never bother making just for himself.

It's going great right up until he catches Jocelyn looking at him oddly. He tries to think of what might cause that reaction, racking his brain for what she might have seen that could be off. He's sure he hadn't been looking to Liv during the meal any more than might be expected but Jocelyn's interest is caught on him, eyes narrowing a little dangerously and he feels a sinking feeling that doesn't combine well with a belly full of food.

Jocelyn opens her mouth but the question that comes out isn't directed at him and is a world away from anything he could have predicted.

"So, how long have you been sleeping with my stepson, Olivia?"

His brother chokes on his mouthful of yam and his brother's girlfriend's mouth drops open in shock at the out of the blue charge. His father's brow furrows too, but his stepsister beats him to saying anything.

"Ma!"

"Jocelyn..." is the restrained warning from his father.

"No, it's fine," says Liv, hardly missing a beat, "It's a reasonable question. I'd say about...9 months."

"Do you love him?" Jocelyn whips back to Liv and the hush to the room continues in response, the witnesses to the spectacle waiting with bated breath for either a refutation or a confirmation.

Lincoln still hasn't managed to catch up with the conversation, thoughts anxiously in freefall at this development and he struggles to swallow down the mouthful food he'd been caught with at the start of it all. His father, fortunately, interjects.

"I don't think this is appropriate. I mean. really, at dinner? Couldn't it have waited until sherry in the lounge, a bit more private." Which means his father thinks only the time and place wrong, not the questioning. Lincoln can't think what to say. It is unreal it's even happening and he daren't interrupt himself. He wants to know the answer more than Jocelyn could ever wish to but that could well be why she asks, presuming to for him.

"I think now's as good a time as any," Jocelyn smarts with a tight smile clearly telling his dad to let her get on with it.

There was a reason why this year's meal was close family only, no extended menagerie of aunts and uncles and cousins. He'd hoped for a billion times less drama this year because of that. It wasn't to be. It didn't usually involve him though. He stares down at his plate, more than a little humiliated and unable to formulate a reply to stop this verbal trainwreck, waiting for it to play out just like everyone else.

"He's my best friend. I'd be lost without him."

"That's a nice answer but it isn't what I was asking about."

"Olivia, what she wants to know is, are you going break our son's heart?" His father says it in a carefully spoken manner, that he knew intoned it with more of a 'we' than 'she'; he was concerned too. His father was a reserved man for the most part, who picked when he spoke very carefully. From the inquiring look on his father's face directed not at Liv but at him, he strongly suspects his father had known for years how he'd felt about her, never uttering a word on the subject because it had never been so present and accountable to him.

"I don't intend to. I'd be a poor friend if I did," Liv replies rather stiffly, somehow ending up with the last word on the subject.

The rest of the meal is tense, he can barely look at anyone and he makes their excuses soon after that, resigned to sharing an uncomfortable car drive back with Liv. One where the atmosphere was completely explicably very awkward.

"Did you say anything to her?" Liv asks him after about half an hour of lull. It wasn't said in an accusatory tone but he gets the distinct impression it might still be meant as such. Despite her cool handling of the impromptu interrogation he knew Liv disliked being ambushed, especially emotionally.

"Apparently I didn't have to. My denying it only confirmed what she thought she knew."

Liv turns to the view scenery, body language which he reads as avoidance but he has no intention of bringing it back up. He is surprised when she continues the thread of conversation.

"They were concerned for you. I'm not used to being seen as a threat by your family."

"It'll pass," he replies, attempting to dismiss it but not being entirely certain it will go away as quickly as he is going to like. He forsees many difficult phone calls with Jocelyn in his future – he could just stop answering those, at least until he has his own head around what precisely is going on.

"I'm sure it will, but I'm more interested in why it came up in the first place. Jocelyn I get, she likes to gossip, read into things. I mean, god, she used to think Charlie and I were a thing, but your dad? I thought we got on, I didn't think he'd be so mad."

"He wasn't mad at you."

In all this if anyone should be mad at anyone Lincoln is pretty sure it should be at him, for agreeing to something he knew he shouldn't do. His dad probably thought he'd raised him to be wiser than that but here he is proving him wrong with every day he hasn't had the guts to end the mess they find themselves in.

He can see from the corner of his eye Liv turns back briefly to look at him curiously, "Are you saying he thinks it's wrong, us, you know, being together?"

"I think they all probably think it's wrong we're _just_ having sex. If we were having sex _and_ 'being together' they wouldn't care." He can't quite prevent the hint of bitterness that seeps out into his statement but Liv doesn't react except to laugh tersely before adding her own thoughts to that.

"Oh they'd care all right, they'd get a kick out of being right."

And seeing me happy, he thinks. That's all they want. The same he wants for Liv.

"Are you happy?" he asks her before he can think better of it.

"Sure, when I'm not being interrogated by your relatives. Peachy. Why do you ask?"

"This...thing, we're doing,“ he lifts his hand off the wheel momentarily to indicate the something between them with a wave, having failed to express it adequately verbally. Which is most likely because he doesn't think _either_ of them can suitably qualify what it is. "Is it really a good idea? When you find something else more proper..."

"More proper?“ she queries, and he hears her voice hardening at the presumption, “You referring to me having a tried and tested boyfriend?"

"Yes, a boyfriend. Like Frank."

He can't stop the resentment creeping in at the implication of someone like Frank. Frank who was in this situation practically code for a person who everyone knew she went out with, who she lived with, cooked with, had dates with, who she'd said she loved. He could feel the frustration building with where this had to head, with every thought he grew angrier – at himself – and wondered if it was palpable to her.

"Isn't it inevitable?" is the question he throws back in the face of her quiet contemplation, "In which case this is a mistake. We should break it off."

"Breaking it off makes it sounds like it really was something," she says uncharacteristically quietly. He can't tell what to make of that when this conversation is already taxing his concentration as he drives and simultaneously tries to navigate what he ought to say and what he absolutely shouldn't.

"You know what I meant," he says curtly, feeling tired and irritable, not nearly patient enough for this type of discussion but unable to rein in his morbid curiosity at where it is leading, "Stop doing _whatever_ we're doing. The words don't matter."

"'I love you' matters."

His heart skips a beat and he has to check he's driving to the speed limit, his attention is faltering. Focus.

"What have those words got to do with this?" he asks tersely, trying to sound confused they're talking about such a thing, steadying his eyes on the road.

"You've never said it. You've told me you'd do anything for me a few times, but never that."

"Why would you expect me to say "I love you'?" and his heart lurches again because saying it then is like a guilty admission concealed in a question. "Doing it doesn't mean -"

"- this is not about the sex Lincoln. This is about us being more than friends."

He tenses at the mention of the one thing they've been so good at not talking about all these months and he wishes they'd kept that up. He isn't prepared for any of what has come at him today.

"If you didn't want things to change then why did you do that, that night, in the kitchen?"

"Why did invite me on a not-date on St. Val's Day? Did you think that wasn't noteworthy? Everything you do says _something,_ " she replies exasperatedly and he can't help but feel his own ire raised too.

"And just what do my actions spell out to you then?"

"Exactly what you won't say," she looks to him pointedly and he glances away acutely aware she is calling him out on things he doesn't think he _can_ say.

"Why do you let me?" He asks as he doesn't quite understand why things have been the way they have if she has known what she's known all along. Each turn of the truth confessed twists his stomach further as he tries to make sense of his view versus hers.

"Do what you do? Or not admit it?"

"Either. Both. I can't tell what this conversation is anymore, what it's about, except spiralling away from me," he huffs back, voice raising as he continues.

Liv in comparision is getting calmer, more certain of the matter as they talk on.

"You don't have to say it. I'm not sure I could say it back. Things are balanced."

"Then what **do** you want?" he asks roughly, appreciative of the fact he gets to keep his gaze ahead of him so maybe she won't see how conflicted he's feeling at everything she's just admitted.

"I don't want to stop Lincoln. I want things to continue."

"So, what, you want us to keeping doing it indefinitely at your leisure? Until someone you can love comes along."

He thought he could do this forever, whatever she wanted as long it included him. Nice idea, crappy execution. This is more painful than he imagined, the good outweighing the bad with each and every time things don't align with what he pines for.

"That's not it,“ she says quickly, "That's not it at all.“

He vaguely sees from his position Liv's gesticulating indicating she's become instantly as frustrated as he is by where they've ended up.

She goes on, seemingly eager to dispell his dismay, "I want it to continue, to grow. I just don't want to be worried what it is. No labels, I just want to be me and to be happy."

He doesn't know what he can say to that and settles for saying nothing, wiping across his face with a sigh and continuing the journey with her saying nothing more either. He drives to her street in silence. She doesn't get out, her fingers grip his shoulder, a brief comfort before he remembers he's mad at her too now.

He drives home with her beside him and she gets out, follows him up his steps, catching the door behind him and shutting it once she's inside too. She's behind him in the lift, in the corridor, as he enters his apartment and he has no fight left in him so he surrenders to letting her come in. He can't take any more talk. She crawls into his bed and curls around him. He lets her because he doesn't know what else to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Things go back to their normal because neither of them are willing to address any of it further, but his smile isn't so wide as it should be. In the back of his mind the conversation from the car haunts him. Charlie would see how it plagues him if he was here, but he's not. Liv knows, but lets it slide, pretends it's all fine because she obviously doesn't know what to do about it any more than he does.

Charlie can tell on the phone he's not right, but a slight modulation of his voice and it can be dismissed, his problems pushed aside with a taunt aimed directly for his friend's relationship with creepy crawlies. If Charlie senses the deflection he doesn't call him out on it.

The sex is harder, rougher, like the indulgence is compressed and he is weaning himself off it. There is a sad look in Liv's eyes almost every time that he hates himself for. She tries to kiss him goodbye sometimes, but he turns away, sticking to getting dressed and leaving promptly. Duty done.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't know what the day is amazingly. There's been so much tacky stuff about for weeks it's hard to be sure when the day has actually arrived. Last year he was worried he'd be alone on the day. This year he's worried he'll be alone forever more if him and Liv continue this trend they've settled into. Dysfunctional fucking can only continue for so long before it hurts them too much and one of them calls it quits. If he was the antidote like she'd drunkenly mused, then he's infected her too well, an ill to guard against, develop defenses to. He never wanted to hurt her and how he feels, how he acts, sickens him.

It's been weeks since she last called him up and to his relief he doesn't get summoned tonight or convinced to go out drinking or in general. He thinks if he's going to find oblivion, this time it should be on his own. He sneaks out of work without a word to her when his reports are finished up from the day's cases and shuts the door to his apartment behind him with a click, sliding down it to his knees. He runs his hands through his hair needlessly, unsure what he's doing and how he ended up in this terrible mess.

Oblivion would be nice tonight. He collects himself together enough to snag a bottle of scotch and dispenses with the requirement for a glass, just necks it pathetically as he sinks further back into his couch. At least they never did it at his, not that it makes the recurring images of what they did elsewhere any less vivid.

There's a knock on his door and he opens it with the chain across to spy Liv standing tall on the other side, shifting on her feet nervously.

He lets her in despite his state, not keen for a scene, intending to let her say whatever it is she's come to say. Given it's more than likely a ''Thank you but no thank you' for his services rendered, he almost feels relief.

"You were right. In the car. I thought you deserved to know."

He slides back into his warm seat on the couch and takes a gulp of fiery liquid. He coughs a little at the burn of so much at once and smiles grimly at the reassuring quality to the discomfort. He knows what to expect – heat, numbness, a dizzying sense of light-headedness and a crash back down to earth eventually to complete the destructive circle.

Liv apparently isn't put off by his more or less ignoring her revelation.

"I did want to prolong this. I did want to wait until someone I can love comes along. But I hoped, I -"

He flicks his eyes up to see her hovering restlessly by the threshold to his personal space, "I still hope that someone would be you."

He stares up at her, dazed. Her words are the exact opposite of what he'd thought she'd say. He could be dreaming. Hallucinating. Yet the tug of her hand removing the bottle from his feels real, as does her the heat from her body as she folds herself up on the couch next to him. Her arm extends to cover his shoulders and her hand comes up to stroke his hair from his face.

"Been waiting seven years. Maybe I can wait a bit longer."

"If it was anyone bets are it's you."

"Let's see how you feel about that later on when I'm hungover," he tries to joke half heartedly, but he's too weary to put much into his expression. He closes his eyes and leans into her.

They stay that way for a long time. His drunken consciousness is irrationally afraid to look to her, to open his eyes and let her see how broken he's been in case she changes her mind. She doesn't that night, but Lincoln knows he is going to be scared she will for a while yet. Unable to shake off the doubt he's lived with for most of the time he's known her. All that time he's wanted what she seems to want now too and it is hard to accept the change of heart. The change itself causes him to ache with longing for what they could be on the cusp of and his fear they might fall the wrong side of the divide they've braced themselves against. He simply has to hope. Her hand in his makes that a little easier at least. It turns out he's not quite out of hope like he'd thought he was.

 

* * *

 

 

One year later he looks around the empty space, at all the places he isn't reminded of where they've done it. The new apartment is a gloriously blank slate.

He lugs in another plastic crate, piling them up in the open plan kitchen-diner area and listens for the telltale sound of sure footsteps that announce his girlfriend will be soon joining him. He waits for her to add her quarry to her own stack near the door before he ambushes her from behind, snaking his arms around her waist and sliding them under the hem of her shirt.

"Was that your last box or are you just happy to see me?“ she asks as he presses himself up against her. His earlybird tendencies mean he had indeed finished moving his boxes in already and he's more than little sweaty for it, not that she seems to mind.

"Does it have to be just one of those? I'm a multifaceted guy I'll have you know.“

She pivots to face him, chiding him a touch, "Unfortunately for you, that isn't my last box and no amount of handsyness is gonna get me off track.“

She slinks out of his grasp and doesn't look back, missing his faux pout and put upon puppy dog eyes. She knows well how to avoid his charms by now.

"You're welcome to help,“ she calls back as she steps out the door.

"Sure you want that?“ he teases as he follows at a slight jog to catch up, "I don't want to step on any toes. I know you're more than capable and you _do_ like to do things a particular way, wouldn't like to interfere.“

She stops right before the front door and rolls her eyes at him for his comment before abruptly switching tack. Her eyes turn steely with determination and she steps back into his range temptingly.

"Lincoln. The sooner we get my boxes in here the sooner we can stay in for the night.“

"Stay in, eh?“ he replies, as if he doesn't catch the implication nor the sultry look she is giving him, "Not worried about missing out on the night's romance in this pokey little place with me of all people?“

"What am I gonna miss out on when you're here, with me,“ she gives him a penetrating stare and he feels a chill go down his spine at the intensity she is showing him. He wonders now why he had second guessed how she felt for him for so long even after they'd gotten together.

As she leans in to capture his lips, and tug him closer by the lapels of his dark denim jacket, he doesn't regret giving them another chance. It could have ended terribly but he got lucky, even luckier than simply having her in his life. He'd given her a chance to find out if she could love him back and somewhere across the months they'd fought to explore the true nature of what they could be, they'd found a kind of peace together. An easiness that had always been sort of apparent but held back by the tension they'd finally resolved.

Still, when Liv had first brought up moving in together he'd again wondered if it was a good idea, tempting fate to move on from the stability of what they'd built. But when her eyes had lit up after viewing this apartment, he'd seen the excitement, directed at him, wanting to know how _he_ felt about it, about them living there _together._ Realising she was inviting him to share her life in every way he could had been like finding a missing puzzle piece, the one that made everything slot together, completing the picture of what they could be and erasing his fears.

"I love you, Liv,“ he says speaking the words unashamedly.

She smiles warmly in return and kisses him again slowly but surely. He doesn't know when she will say it in return but he doesn't worry anymore. He's learned, a little late perhaps, that with her actions speak much louder than words. For whatever she doesn't say, she does keep choosing him each day and that is what matters to him more than anything.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic chapters are rebloggable on tumblr [under the tag here](https://purpleyin.tumblr.com/tagged/fringe%20fic:%20evolution%20is%20no%20fast%20thing).


End file.
